Mortal Eternity
by Yxonomei
Summary: Voldemort did not kill Lily or her infant on that fateful night. He broke her mind and took possession of her son. A young Harry now grows up under the care of a madwoman and a sweet-faced monster. (chan, violence, blood, TRxHP, etc.)
1. Fairytales

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to the Harry Potter Series, which solely belong to J.K. Rowling, et al, but that hasn't stopped me from writing about them.

**Warning: This story contains the themes of sex, shota/chanslash, and male/male relationships, a.k.a. slash/yaoi. If any of these may offend you, then stop reading. If, however, you do read this, in spite of my warnings, and find it offensive, then I have to say it is your own fault. Some scenes of an erotic nature, but I have attempted to write them as tastefully as my ability allows.**

**Note: I will not accept any flames, however, comments and criticisms are welcome. I am under the assumption that anyone reading this has a clear understanding of the difference between flames and criticisms so I don't have to explain it. Here are some reason why I don't accept flames: **1) **they generally include an attack on the author's character without regard to previous or future works that may or may not be in the same vein, ****2) not only are they childish, but they make the writer of them sound immature and not old enough to read the material contained herein, ****3) flames help neither the author nor the flamer to improve the work and, therefore, are not constructive, ****4) if something is so offensive as to elicit the impulse to flame then it is better forgotten and not dwelled upon, ****5) you waste time writing it and I waste time reading and then deleting it, **6)** it won't do you any good to point out my lack of scruples, morals, intelligence, sanity, etc., because not only don't I care, but I won't listen.**

Additionally, the chanslash does not start until Harry reaches an older age, which shall occur, most likely, in the following chapter/s. 

____

Mortal Eternity

____

_It wasn't happily ever after…_

"And the prince with hair of jet and eyes of blue glass knew that he had been betrayed by the faithless rat when he saw the hateful black wyrm slithering up to the castle's gate." Auburn hair streaked with sorrow-spun sliver, the woman rocks her young son and fills his small ears with poisoned fairytales. The boy shudders as tender horrors issue from his beloved mother's bleached lips. 

"The prince fought valiantly, but the wyrm's venom proved too strong and he fell before the ancient castle gates."

"I don't like this story!" the boy cries and burrows his small head against her sagging bosom.

"And up in the tower the princess crowned with crimson flames held fast an infant angel. She heard the death cry of her beloved and all the fragile hopes of her soul perished with him."

"Please, mommy!" Great tears trail down the boy's smooth cheeks and soak the woman's thin day gown. Gently she strokes his bowed head and continues the tale with a voice of tattered silk.

"Singing a mocking funeral dirge, the hateful wyrm slithered up the stone stairs that groaned with the passing of hundreds of years. The princess tried to block the door, but it was in vain. The wyrm breathed its poisonous words into the small room. Swiftly it attacked the brave princess and she fell before his onslaught like the prince before her."

"No. Stop it! I don't want to hear!" Small fists slam ineffectually against the woman's chest. 

"However, unlike with the prince, the wyrm did not let the princess die. Oh no, he sank his vile fangs into her red heart and filled her with his corruption and then he kissed the infant angel. With no prince left to protect them the wyrm was able to kidnap the maddened princess and the sweet angel. He took them back to his odious lair and chained them down with ribbons of barbwire and hate.

"No one ever found them. The prince's remaining vassals had been mislead and captured. Even the beneficent king was powerless to rescue the princess and the angel."

"No…" the child sobs weakly. 

"Hush, love, it's alright." Lovingly the mother tilts the child's head up to meet his piercing green eyes. "They found happily ever after."

Spun-glass hope fills the child's luminous face.

"They died."

*          *          *

_The earthworm burrowed beneath the castle walls and they crumbled…_

"Stupid bitch!" the young man screams as he kicks the singing woman. She lands on the water-splashed black tiles of the bathroom floor.

"The prince is dead. The princess is dead. The angel is dead," she trills in a voice that was once gentle and mellifluous. Now it is the breaking of ice and rent flesh. Crimson eyes blazing with ferocious malevolence, the youth delivers a rib-cracking blow to the woman's chest. She wails in pain and curls into a fetal position. 

"My Lord, he lives." The young man pauses and looks inquiringly over his shoulder. His servant holds the eerily pale form of a drenched child. The small boy convulses with each wet cough. A thin line of water trickles out of his mouth.

Abandoning the wailing and whimpering madwoman, he strides forward and takes the wet child in his arms. He places his cold lips over the child's and sucks out the last drops of life-extinguishing water. The boy's coughing ceases and he drifts off into an exhausted slumber. 

"Put him to bed, Severus," the youth instructs after spiting the water onto the floor. "I'll deal with his mother. We shall have to adjust the wards upon her afterwards."

"You don't plan on…"

"If she tries this again, I most certainly will. For now"—He casts a cold glare upon the woman—"I'll only remind her of her place."

"Perhaps we should _obliviate_ this incident from the boy's mind?"

"Hmm…Yes, do that."

"Yes, my Lord."

*          *          *

_"I love you," she lied with a smile…_

Harry closes his eyes. Mother is in the doll room again. He hates that room and its silent, glassy-eyed inhabitants, pretty little corpses lining white-pine shelves. He stands silently outside the door and listens to the soft rise and fall of her voice. She is telling them stories. She talks of the prince and the princess. She sings them songs of heroes and dragons.

He wishes she would tell him those stories, but she never will. Mother only tells happy stories to the deaf dolls. She croons silver words to them. She loves them. She knows the name of each one; she forgets his half the time. 

He hates the dolls.

They've stolen his mother. 

Maybe if he is a doll then mother will love him. Maybe then she won't tell him the scary stories. 

"Mommy," he whispers to the door as he slides down its smooth surface. Listening to her voice with closed eyes, he can pretend the sweet words she speaks are directed towards him. 

"I love you so much, James. Of course I'll marry you!" 

Harry hates James, too. He's never met James, but sometimes mother calls him by that name and then bursts into fits of uncontrollable tears. He wants to hit her when she does that. He wants to scream that he isn't James; he's Harry, Harry not James! He doesn't, though. He did that once and she only looked at him blankly. Her dull green eyes were flat and unknowing. She asked him who he was. That was worse than her calling him James. 

"Would you like some more tea, Anne?" Porcelain clinks. "I'm going to be a bride. Isn't that wonderful?"

Unless she's telling him scary stories, mother ignores Harry. When she isn't in the doll room or her bedroom—he's not allowed in either—she wanders aimlessly about the mansion. He follows her silent form. She is like a sad ghost haunting the place. 

Sometimes he hates her. Sometimes he wishes that she would die. But then he feels so guilty and vows to love her even more. He's only told mother that he loves her one time. She hit him. He hasn't told her since.

If only she would call him Harry and hold him and tell him nice things. 

Tom does, but mother doesn't like Tom one bit. Whenever he comes over, and he seems to visit quite a lot, she vanishes into her rooms. Harry doesn't understand this. He asked mother but she only cried. He asked Tom but he only shrugged and smiled. Harry wishes someone would tell him why!

At least Tom tells him nice stories unlike mother. His stories are strange, but they have happy endings. They don't burrow into Harry's stomach and make him feel ill. Sometimes Tom gives him peppermint candies for a kiss. Now Harry thinks that kisses taste like peppermint. 

Every once in a while Tom brings older friends over. There is a man with silvery-gold hair and molten pewter eyes. There is also one with hair and eyes so black it seems that the sun never existed. The third is brown, hair and eyes, with pinched, unpleasant features. Others come, too, but less frequently, and Harry doesn't feel any obligation to remember their faces. 

Harry likes the fact that Tom doesn't ignore him when his older friends are over. In fact, Tom makes it quite a point to have him there while they talk about things. He feels like such a grown up. He told Tom that once; Tom laughed.

If only mother would come out of the room…

He wants to burn the room, burn the dolls. Maybe mother would tell him nice stories then. Maybe Tom would give him another peppermint kiss. 

*          *          *

_Drip, drip, drip went God's severed head…_

"I really don't think it's wise to leave the child all alone with that…woman." 

Harry feels Tom's laughter rumble deep in his chest. Strong arms surround him and hold him close. He feels safe and warm, perhaps too warm for such a sunny day, but he doesn't care. Small birds twitter among the flowering bushes and dark green tree boughs. He can smell the grass and Tom. Everything is glowing with the barest traces of a sleepy afternoon.

"She can't harm him now any more than she can harm herself. The wards make sure of that."

"Still, it can't be very healthy…" 

"Are you questioning me?" Harry shivers as Tom's decidedly chilly voice whips the air. He turns his head and looks at Tom's friend. The man has no expression on his face. Dark eyes catch his for a moment then slide away. 

"No, my Lord."

"Good. If you're so concerned with his mental health, then perhaps we should find him a playmate." Harry perks up a bit at this suggestion. "Someone his own age? What about Malfoy's spawn?"

"I don't think that is wise. Draco has certain…ah, predilections. He is taking after Lucius at a very young age."

"Really? What has he done that makes you so reluctant to let him play with Harry?"

Harry likes it when Tom says his name. It sounds warm and much more interesting. When he is alone with his mother, he says his own name out loud so he won't forget it. Tom told him one time that a name is the only thing that makes someone alive. Without a name you don't exist. 

"You remember those two geldings that Lucius was moaning about a while back, my Lord?"

"He was quite incensed about the matter, as I recall." 

"Indeed. My godson burst their eyes."

"Hmm. Perhaps he would not be the best companion. Quite vicious. I'm sure Lucius is proud." The guest chuckles darkly. Harry curls closer to Tom. He doesn't like the conversation. He has seen pictures of horses; what he remembers most about them are their large, liquid eyes.

"What about a tutor? Does the boy even know his letters?"

"Reading can be dangerous. Knowledge is power, especially for us." Tom's elegant hands comb though Harry's unruly hair and slide down his back to gather him closer. 

"As you say, my Lord."

"But perhaps you're not so far off. What say you, Harry? Would you like to learn to read?" Harry blinks sleepily and meets Tom's garnet eyes.

"Read?" he queries softly around a dainty yawn. 

"Yes. Would you?"

"Okay."

"A Potter willing to learn anything? Now I think I have seen it all," the guest scoffs.

"Severus." Tom's voice is a clear warning that immediately silences the guest. Harry is glad. The man's derision hurts.

"I am sorry, my Lord. I let my tongue get away from me."

"Perhaps, then, we should see it better occupied? Report to Bella after you leave."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Now, as for Harry, who should instruct him, I wonder?" Harry closes his eyes and decides that the conversation is no longer interesting. "How about our special guest?"

"No!" Harry jumps as the man's enraged voice snaps through the air. He turns distressed eyes upon the man, who is partly out of his chair, face flushed with rage. He whimpers and Tom rubs gentling hands down his back.

"You promised me revenge, my Lord. You said—"

"I am quite aware of what I said, Severus, there is no need to remind me."

"My Lord—"

"Do you really like spending so much time with Bella?"

"No, my Lord."

"Then stop talking before I send you to her for an extended stay." Tom presses a small kiss to Harry's dark crown. "Ah, look, you've frightened the child. Shame on you, Severus." The man makes no reply to Tom's chastisement. Harry thinks he is a rather scary individual. He seeks reassurance in Tom's willing arms. 

"My Lord."

________


	2. Ashes, Ashes

I would like to purloin a moment of your time to thank those who have so kindly left me a review for this dark little work.

Firstly, I would like to offer my most sincere gratitude to **anukk for the heartwarming words of kindness bestowed. I am most grateful and blush with your praise. I pray that your favor is not taken away by my own failures regarding this story.**

**Tzipphora**, **PinkDevil,**** budgie58, **Skull Bearer**, **liz, Fantome**,**** Party Girl2, I offer you my most unworthy work up for your consumption and you have been so kind as to return words of encouragement. For this I am humbled deeply. Thank you, most precious readers.**

**Malakai**, I find myself at a loss to express myself. The complexity and depth of your review displays the most touching attention to this story. I shall endeavor most ardently to create works worthy of your words.

**evelia**, How can I be so bold as to continue in your favor? The faith you have in my abilities is staggering. I hope that this chapter meets with your continued approbation. For you I shall stretch past the limits of my poor mind to find something of value and entertainment.

_____

Mortal Eternity

_____

_Ashes, ashes, we all fall down…_

"Disgusting," the youth with jet hair and crimson eyes hisses as the warded door swings open upon well-oiled hinges. The mingled scents of blood, rancid sweat, vomit and bodily refuse pour out of the room in a tangible wave. Underlying the mephitic stench is the musk of an unwashed animal. 

Holding a scented handkerchief over his nose with one black-gloved hand, the young man enters the cell. His companions, two dimly aware behemoths, gag and stay behind. The youth seems unconcerned with the damage incurred on his shiny, black leather shoes from the filth on the floor. Elegantly he sidesteps masticated bones and vomited chunks of decayed flesh. With a cruel chuckle he kicks aside a small, gnawed head. 

"Poor wretch, piteous creature," the youth croons as he kneels on the floor before a shuddering, filthy man crouched in the darkest corner of the cell. He lowers the handkerchief and tucks it away. Gently the young man caresses the cowering wreck's dirty cheek and brushes back a length of matted, rank hair. Golden eyes burn with feverish intensity, as if they could light the tenebrous room with their brilliance. 

"I have a question for you, my tamed wolf, and I would be ever so grateful if you would answer." He grips the man's chin tightly and forces him to meet his gaze. "Do you know my name?"

The filthy man whimpers pathetically and tries to jerk his head free. The youth only tightens his grip.

"I'll hurt you if you don't answer me, pet." A strange, choked sound emerges from a throat that has known only screams of pain for years. "Come on, you can do it."

With a voice torn ragged and bloody the man gasps a faltering affirmative.

"And what is it?"

"V-Volde…mor…t…." The man convulses into a fit of hacking coughs. The youth releases his hold and waits patiently for the fit to pass.

"Very good, my wolf, you have pleased me. Now I have something else, something I think you'll be very eager to hear." Golden eyes filled with beauteous pain turn to him. A fragile, desperate hope pools in them. 

"Would you like to be freed from this place?" The wretch nods slowly, warily. "Say yes."

"Y-yessss…"

"I will not take away the pain of your memories, but I can dull the ache. What would you do for this? What would you give?" 

"An-y…th-thing…"

*          *          *

_Only the innocent or conscienceless sleep soundly…_

Five years he was tortured and kept in a cell and forced to live. For one week every month they starved him. Once a month he was given a potion that maintained his consciousness inside his grotesque transformation. Once a month for three days they locked all manner of people—children, women, men, Death Eaters, innocents, all of them—in with him. All he could do was scream inside his head as he savaged the defenseless victims into things no longer recognizably human. 

Once human, he regurgitated the partially digested chunks of human flesh and bone. 

He wished for the madness and the death denied him.

Now, perhaps, as the magical geas roots deeply into the fibers of his existence, he will find absolution. Already the faces of his many victims fade into indistinct ghosts. Their dying screams of desperate life are so many muted echoes. 

For this small respite he has sold his soul to the devil himself, yet he cannot find it within himself to feel guilt. He is far too tired, tired of fighting, tired of the pain of torture—both mental and physical. All he wants is rest, to exist in a nebulous daze. 

Perhaps now when he closes his eyes he won't see blood. 

*          *          *

_From the waters of Acheron he emerged…_

The youth sits by the large marble tub as the disgusting man is callously bathed. Heavy perfumes mask the stench rioting through the sultry air. The clear water about the man turns black. The tub is emptied and cleaned and then the cleansing continues. 

Carelessly the tangled mats of hair fall to the floor under a lackey's indifferent strokes. Again and again the wretch is forced in and out of the tub until he finally emerges as close to human as he can ever hope to be. 

"You clean up nice, my wolf," the young man compliments with a cruel sneer. "Aren't you now glad that I never allowed madness to take root?"

"Y-yes…"

After several bitter draughts the damage to his voice has all but been repaired. His vocal cords can no longer support a true yell, and so he must retain communication in softer tones. 

"Such pretty marks, pet," the youth murmurs as he traces the silvery scars wending about the man's body. "And to think that no one would be able to see them, if I hadn't ordered silver nitrate to be rubbed into your wounds." 

With mild strokes the young man flattens the uneven locks of silver-threaded caramel brown hair. The scarred man shudders away. Fear and disgust snap through his mild golden eyes. Crimson orbs narrow dangerously and the gentle hands turn harsh and dominating. 

"You should show more gratitude. I could have left you there to wallow in your filth and deserved guilt. I could have left you to writhe besides the fetid remnants of your victims. I am being far more generous than the one who seeks vengeance against you." A harsh blow strikes the newly reborn man. "Never forget and never disobey, or you shall find yourself back quicker than thought."

The youth pulls away and motions for several attendants to clothe the violently shivering man. His cold lips betray the slightest of wicked smiles. 

"We are going on a little trip, my wolf. Then we shall get down to the matter of my seeming kindnesses, and you shall come to fully appreciate the terms of my claim over you.

"I am going to show you some ghosts never laid to rest."

*          *          *

_To exist in a world without names…_

"Tom's back!" Harry yells jumping out of his chair on the patio. His mother drops the sandwich square she has been nibbling for the past two hours. Dull green eyes pass over the wrought iron railing and find the dark speck moving gracefully up the grass-lined path. 

"Demons hie and angels fly," she hisses and knocks the table over with an enraged shriek. Harry jumps back from the dishes and cups that shatter upon the ground. Milk and tea mingle with the remaining sandwich squares and fruit wedges. 

"Mommy." He tries to grab her as she dashes for the patio doors. 

"Don't touch me, spawn of no woman." Violently she shakes him off and disappears inside. Soon only her wild lamentations can be heard echoing hollowly through the mansion. 

"Mommy, come back!" Harry screams with all his young rage. He hates when she runs away, when she rejects him so definitely. He wants to hit something. He wants to slam his fist into a yielding surface and transfer his pain into another. 

Why does she do this? Why? Why? Why? 

He could scream. 

He does. 

His voice breaks through the warm air and deafens him. Small fists clenched at his sides, neck straining as if to expel his very soul, he wails. As the last echoes of his scream fade away, a sudden exhaustion steals over his limbs. Choking back frustrated tears he sinks upon the cold stone floor. 

And this is how Tom finds him. 

Tom doesn't ask why he's suffocating himself trying not to cry. He simply enfolds Harry in his arms and gives him a peppermint kiss. 

"I have a surprise for you, Harry," Tom whispers affectionately. Harry sniffs and turns green eyes up to meet Tom's. 

"A surprise?" he echoes dully. Wiping the crystalline drops aside with patient fingers, Tom nods. Harry manages a shaky grin. He wishes he could tell Tom that he doesn't need surprises or gifts; all he needs is Tom. Tom will never leave him or reject him like mother does. Tom loves him like mother doesn't. 

"Yes. Come along." Harry squeaks in surprised delight when Tom lifts him up with ease. Cradled against Tom's warm body he feels safe. He loves when Tom carries him; he would never walk again if he could just live in the safety of Tom's embrace. 

What would it be like if mother…?

Lulled into a gentle, waking-dream, Harry watches lazily for the appearance of his surprise. He can feel the reverberations of every footfall of Tom's. He thinks that it could be called the tread of God's own venerated soles. 

Tom tells him stories about God, though he always says that they're nothing more than children's fairytales. Harry doesn't quite understand how some all powerful person could really be responsible for everything. He supposes that's why they're fairytales. Nothing has to make sense in those. Mother's make no sense—or too much. He can't decide.

"Harry, are you paying attention?" He blinks and looks up at Tom, who is smiling indulgently at him. 

"Yes."

"Good. Then I'd like you to meet your new tutor: Remus Lupin."

_____­­­_______

**Note**: The current pairings (to occur in an official capacity at a later date) as of now are as follows, TR/HP and RL/HP

I would like to offer my most sincere apologies to **Party Girl2 for not making Tom Harry's tutor. I hope your disappointment will allow you to continue to find favor with this story.**


	3. When You Dream

I am in raptures to have garnered such wonderful reviews from all of you.

Firstly, I must offer my unworthy gratitude to **ntamara for so kindly offering encouragement. Drusilla = Lily is quite a scary thought, but seems quite applicable, doesn't it? La.**

**Mistress Potter**, I would first like to extend my heartfelt thanks for your kind regards. Second, to answer the questions you posed, Harry is about five or six years old, and as to what happened to James, and to some extent Sirius, the fairytale Lily tells Harry in the first chapter should answer that. Thank you most profusely.

**Party Girl2**,** PinkDevil, **HPIceAngel**, **flower-bandit, RainSW6**, **Fanatic Reader**, **npetrenko**, **cair**, I would like to offer my most profound thanks for the time you have allowed yourself to expend on my behalf in the form of a review. I know that I cannot properly convey my gratitude with words, so I hope that another chapter shall suffice.**

**Sami Potter**, Yes, I wanted to make Lily different. I am glad you approve. As to Harry's age, I think that he is around five or six. Thank you most sincerely. 

**Fire**, The depth and thoughtfulness of your review leaves me stunned. I must say that you are quite insightful and have quite struck upon the foundation of Tom's motivations. I am most anxious to please you and continue to earn any kind words you deem me worthy of. 

**evelia**, Your words leave me feeling quite, quite ecstatic. Your wonderful picture pitched me head first into the utmost pleasure. I am thrilled beyond the expression of mere words. You are far more deserving of everyone's praise.

_____

Mortal Eternity

_____

_It is lonely living among the dead…_

He sees a ghost made material by some grotesque science. This ghost regards him with eyes of one long dead set in a face of another such one. This is not possible. It cannot be. Yet, the proof watches him with unwavering and childlike curiosity. 

Remus Lupin questions his sanity in those eyes of deepest emerald. Yet, his new master told him explicitly that no mental obstruction hindered his senses. His faculties remain as fixed as they ever were. 

"Say, hello, my wolf," the devil commands gently. Beneath the genial words lurks a razorblade to cut him to bleeding strips of soiled humanity. 

"Hello," he says obediently. 

"Hello," the ghost-child replies shyly. 

"I see recognition in your face, my wolf. He looks familiar, doesn't he?" Numbly affranchised man nods his head, all the while drowning in lakes of green. His lips part to admit the passage of a single word, but the power of the geas roars through his mind and body and snatches away the vocalization.

The devil smiles with knowing amusement and caresses the child with calculated intimacy. Remus flinches away.

"Yes, he holds a striking resemblance to a certain dead compatriot—and one still living." The man knows the devil is mercilessly teasing him. He holds out the parcel of information like a scrap of meat before a starving dog. Unfortunately, the man's fangs have been pulled.

"What _would_ James say about this?"

What would he say? What? What?

Life, wife and child purloined one cold, unforgiving night. Him, helpless observer in the afterlife to the cruelties and tender violations imposed upon his loved ones. What can the dead say?

And Lily, why she must live! But in what state? How have six years of imprisonment and abuse changed the tender young woman? Would her indomitable spirit remain? Or would she be nothing more than a carved out shell?

"James?" Remus jerks free from the insidious grasp of his thoughts upon hearing his friend's name hissed with such resentment. The child, who could only be Harry, glares angrily between the devil and himself. 

"Well," the crimson-eyed devil says with a sly smile, "He was a good friend of your mother."

"Mother…" Deep sorrow fills the boy's eyes with crystalline drops. 

"Mister Lupin, here, is another friend. You two were quite close, weren't you?" Remus wants to bury his fingers in the devils glinting eyes and feel them burst under the pressure. He wants to press in with his fingers till he can scramble the gray matter of his brain. He chokes upon his insatiable rage. 

"Well, let's head in. We still have a few matters to discuss."

*          *          *

_Laughing, they burn…_

"Tom?" Harry queries softly as he pushes the bedroom door open. The hinges issue a forlorn whine of protest. The room is all darkness save for the wedge of light tugging his elongated shadow across the floor. He can barely discern the sheet-covered form that is Tom.

Harry dithers in the doorway. The too-real fragments of his nightmare prick him uncomfortably. He wants to enter and crawl in beside Tom, but the nightmare grips him too tightly. It presses into his chest and constricts his lungs.

Once he had sought reassurances in mother's bed. He'll never forget how she screamed like some mortally wounded thing. Kicking and screaming, she drove him onto the floor.

"Demon child! Hated thing!" she shrieked as she threw pillows at him. 

He's never sought her out since.

Tom's never done that. Tom always welcomes him to his bed with peppermint kisses and kind touches. When Tom isn't at home, Harry has to curl up in his lonely bed and wait for morning's pallid light. 

Tonight, though, he can't bring himself to cross the floor and reach the bed. In his nightmare he was drowning in an ocean of red liquid and held under by a pair of tender hands. A smiling face watched him and told him that everything would be fine soon. But it wasn't! And it had felt so real, as if he was reliving it and not just dreaming. 

"Tom?" he croaks a little louder. His feet are rooted to the spot. He knows Tom will make everything better; he always does. 

"Tom?"

"Harry?" 

Harry yelps in surprise and whirls around to find a bedraggled Mr. Lupin. 

"What are you doing up?" the man asks softly. Harry shifts nervously. He isn't sure if he likes Mr. Lupin. He doesn't know if he can like anyone who was or is friends with James. 

"Nightmare," Harry mutters. Mr. Lupin nods in an understanding.

"I have those, too."

"Y-You do?"

"Yes." There is something haunted about Mr. Lupin's voice. Harry has the peculiar notion that Mr. Lupin may understand what his nightmares are like in a way that Tom can't. This knowledge disturbs him. Isn't Tom the only one who understands? Mother certainly doesn't, or even cares to. Mr. Lupin is little more than a stranger Harry met earlier today. 

"W-What do you do?" Gingerly Mr. Lupin knees before Harry. His face is in shadow, but Harry can sense the hesitant, compassionate smile. Warm hands—so different from Tom's cool ones—frame his face. 

"I—"

"Yes, what do you do, my tamed wolf?" Tom's voice cracks angrily through the air. Harry jerks away from Mr. Lupin. Guilt flushes his pale cheeks. 

"Do you howl your anguish to the uncaring night? Or weep like an abandoned babe?" Harry has never heard Tom like this before. Tom seems angry in a way that frightens Harry. Tom is upset with him!

He turns to find Tom sitting up in bed. Tom's red eyes glow with rage.

"T-Tom?" Those terribly glowing eyes transfix Harry. They burn into him. A small whimper of fear passes his lips.

Tom hisses a string of strange words. A strange force grasps Harry's arms and jerks him fully into the room. Mr. Lupin yells his name as the door slams shut. 

Shivering and whimpering, Harry presses himself back against the closed door to escape Tom's burning eyes. He doesn't like this Tom! He wants the nice Tom back!

"No!" he yells and squeezes his eyes closed. This is just part of the bad dream. This isn't real. This isn't. 

Fat tears trickle down his cheeks.

"Harry?" Tom's soft voice startles him. Cautiously Harry opens his eyes. "Are you okay, angel?"

"Tom?" Harry gasps. Tom's eyes are normal.

"Was it another nightmare?" Harry nods frantically. Tom makes a small sound of sympathy and opens his arms. "Come here." Wiping the tears from his eyes, Harry scrambles up and throws himself at Tom. 

"It was horrible!" Large, cool hands stroke his back and draw him close to Tom's body. 

"Shh, it's alright now. What did you dream about?" Tenderly Tom kisses his face as Harry tells him about his nightmare. Soon he finds himself lulled to a peaceful complacency by Tom's reassurances and caresses. 

"I'm going to keep you in a box," Tom whispers lovingly. "Keep you tucked away where only I can find you."

Harry nods languidly as sleep claims him. 

_____


End file.
